


Lady Boyle's Last Party

by Loxare



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dad Corvo, Gen, I will be honest, Low Chaos, Mutilation, No beta we die like mne, Samuel is the best guy, and wearing a trenchcoat, mentions of torture, mute corvo, this fic is just a bunch of headcanons stacked on top of each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21687469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loxare/pseuds/Loxare
Summary: Corvo simply wants to know why Lady Boyle has to die. And no one will give him a satisfactory answer.He takes matters into his own hands.This changes things, but not by much.
Relationships: Corvo Attano & Emily Kaldwin, Corvo Attano & Samuel Beechworth
Comments: 15
Kudos: 120





	Lady Boyle's Last Party

_Why?_

It's written on a slip of paper and slid across a table. The recipient doesn't notice, never has, instead putting down his mug of ale directly on top of it. "You haven't left yet?"

Corvo stared at the slip of paper, the word just barely visible beneath the distortion of the glass. He wrote another note, futilely, and slid this across the table as well. _Why does Lady Boyle have to die?_

This paper also went unaddressed. Havelock stood before Corvo had lifted his hand from it, waving his glass in Lydia's general direction. "Better hurry Corvo. The party won't wait forever." Lydia got him his refill, shooting Corvo an apologetic look as she did.

He knew. The Loyalists, or at least Martin, Pendleton and Havelock, saw Corvo as a blade. A weapon they could turn against their enemies. And if the weapon was silent, even better. Never mind that the weapon hadn't actually killed anyone for them. It was an attitude he was familiar with. He'd never been the most verbose man, which combined with his common heritage caused most of the nobility to treat him as little more than a coat rack. Albeit one that stood two steps behind and one to the right of the Empress at all times. They were polite enough when the Empress was in the room and ignored him at all other times.

No answers would come from Havelock at any rate. Or the other two. Perhaps…

He stalked out of the pub, heading for the workshop, writing in his notebook. _Piero, I need your help with a financial problem._ Luckily, Piero wasn't working with the drill press, so Corvo felt safe thrusting the note between Piero’s nose and the screwdriver.

"Oh?" Piero recoiled a bit in surprise, then read. "Happy to help. Finances aren't really my area of expertise, although I do manage to keep this place funded. Oh, with your help, of course."

Corvo smiled slightly, writing. It took only a few seconds, but he could tell Piero was getting impatient. _How long would it take for this workshop to stop producing, if all funding were cut off?_

Piero scratched his chin. "About a week maybe. I have enough supplies to last me that long, assuming the same rate of production. Two if I cut out a few things."

_How long would Dunwall Tower last?_

"Oh far longer. The imperial store houses and treasury are far larger than mine, and able to hold far more material and wealth. Cutting off funding wouldn't cause a significant drop in efficiency there at all." His admiring tone slipped away. "Of course, the city would suffer, but it's doing that anyways. Why do you ask?"

 _Why does Lady Boyle need to die?_ The paper, the same one he’d waved at Havelock, was thrust forward with urgency, frustration. It was his third time asking this question, and he wanted it answered.

Piero considered. "I see what you're saying. If she died, cutting off the Lord Regent from her fortune wouldn’t give us a noticeable decrease in security. But I'm sure Havelock and the others have thought of these things already Corvo. That’s their job here after all.” He smiled. 

Corvo didn't. It didn't sit well with him.

And it still didn't, three hours later, sitting beside an unconscious Esma Boyle. Nothing he could find out about her, from reading her journal, from listening to the other guests, from her own words, marked her as someone who deserved death. And she definitely didn't deserve the boat that rat of a man had said he would prepare for her. No woman did.

This wasn't like with Campbell or the Pendleton twins, cruel men all in their own right who used their own power as a bludgeon against those with none. This woman had done what she'd done to protect herself and her sisters.

Mind made up, Corvo stood. With a key to Dunwall tower in his pocket, he went out the window.

  
  


*

  
  


On the third month of his imprisonment, the Lord Regent became impatient. The torturer, a man who knew his craft well, had taken a break with Corvo, to let him recover so he could break him apart again later. Tivold Ludd, the doctor of Coldridge, if he could be called that when terms like _sawbones_ and _bloodletter_ exist, scrubbed his wounds with harsh soap and a scrub brush, bandaged him roughly and tossed him back into his cell.

Corvo had made the most of his week in solitude, only moving to grab the food left at his door or to use the stinking hole in the corner. From experience, he knew he would get another few days to himself before it all started again. And yet, when the guards grabbed him, dragging him out of a fitful rest, he couldn't bring himself to be surprised.

Once the torturer had given him the usual warm up - a beating, followed by breaking a few fingers - the Lord Regent stepped out of the office in a manner he probably thought was regal but just looked rat-like to Corvo. All mincing movements, too quick to be graceful. "I grow weary of our time together, Corvo. You refuse to speak a confession?"

Corvo shook his head. He hadn't spoken since they'd first thrown him in his cell. All they'd gotten on their audiograph recordings had been him screaming.

Burrows gestured, and the torturer stuck an arc baton into Corvo's side. More screams, and the smell of burning flesh and whale oil. Then nothing. Corvo gasped when they threw water onto his face. Burrows was tapping a bloodstained audiograph card between his fingers. One of his then. "I grow weary, too, of listening to your screams. I will not listen to them any more." He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his coat pocket, waving it at Corvo. "This is a confession I have drafted for you. You will sign it."

Wearily, Corvo shook his head.

The Lord Regent narrowed his eyes. "Very well. Doctor, as we discussed." He turned his back.

The torturer forced Corvo's head back against the seat, and a second pair of hands secured the straps to hold it there. Then the torturer tilted the chair until Corvo was almost laying down. His big hand pressed down on Corvo's chest, trying to keep him from struggling. Ludd stepped into Corvo's view, holding a rusty surgical knife. Or at least, Corvo hoped it was rust. "Now, now Lord Protector. Do stay still. You wouldn't want me to make a mistake."

He'd spent so long not speaking that he couldn't protest even if he wanted to. He thrashed in his bonds, twisting and turning just enough to keep his neck away from the knife. Until Ludd got tired of it and gestured at the torturer. His first came down, once, twice, until Corvo's vision darkened and it was difficult to remember even his name.

Compared to everything else he'd endured, the cut that took his voice didn't even hurt.

  
  


*

  
  


He landed in the boat with a thud and Samuel's coffee mug almost went into the Wrenhaven. "Outsider's eyes Corvo, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" He looked his passenger over, likely noting the familiar lack of blood and raised an eyebrow. "Is it done then?"

Corvo shook his head, hands already forming sentences. Out of all the Loyalists, Samuel had picked up his odd way of speaking fastest. Piero and Callista tried, although Piero claimed to have no gift for languages, and Callista was usually too busy teaching Emily to learn. ' _This one didn't feel right. I need you to take me somewhere else._ '

"Sure thing." Samuel eyed the little coffee that had managed to stay in his mug and slurped it down. "Just say the word."

' _Dunwall Tower._ '

Samuel's mug stopped half in and half out of his bag. Then the man shrugged and finished packing it away. "You're a strange one, Corvo. But a good one.”

Corvo smiled at the man fondly. He wasn’t sure whether or not to be grateful that the man couldn’t see it behind the mask.

The boat purred quietly through the river and around the bay, the well-maintained engine hardly making a sound. A testament to the care that Samuel put into it. Corvo took off the mask to fiddle with the lenses. One of the magnifications was sticking a bit. Samuel tapped his fingers on the rudder, a sure sign that he wanted to say something. Eventually, “Are you gonna tell her?”

Corvo’s fingers stilled.

He had to. He knew he did. He’d never been the most talkative person, even before he’d woken up in his cell with a grimy bandage wrapped around his throat. It had been difficult for him. Corvo had been trained as an assassin before he’d been gifted to Emily’s grandfather, and assassins weren’t encouraged to speak. It was far harder than he’d expected, breaking years and years of conditioning. He had, but only with Emily and Jessamine. And even then, only occasionally. As a result, Emily had grown up knowing all the languages of the islands, both spoken and silent.

It was likely Emily hadn’t noticed his silence. He tried to tell himself it wouldn’t change anything. He would still be able to talk to her as eloquently as an orator. And he’d always been more talkative with his hands than his voice.

He tried to ignore the memories that always surfaced when he told himself that, the memories of him singing songs to her, and reading her bedtime stories.

Samuel had been quiet, waiting for Corvo to answer, eyes on the water. When Corvo knocked on the bench next to him, he turned back. Corvo nodded. ‘ _After this mission. When she’s safe._ ’

The boatman nodded, and put his attention back to the water.

  
  


*

  
  


The torturer - Morris Sullivan was his name, Corvo learned later - had specific instructions regarding Corvo’s hands. Specifically, he wasn’t allowed to break the first three fingers on Corvo’s right hand. His dominant hand. After all, he had to be able to sign his confession, since he couldn’t speak it. All his other fingers had been broken at least twice. He no longer had any feeling in his right ring and left pinky fingers. If he wasn’t holding anything, his thumbs trembled.

Arc batons, water torture, hot irons, acid, beatings, lashings. Assorted other things, if Sullivan was feeling creative. Thankfully, he wasn’t a creative man. And after all of that, Corvo was still holding his silence. Metaphorically and literally.

Completely out of patience, the Lord Regent signed his execution order.

Of course, unlike prison records, execution orders are a matter of public interest. Everyone loves a good execution. It puts their minds off of their own woes. Even one which is limited to selected individuals can raise the public spirit, especially if the one being executed is the one accused of killing the Empress.

And so, for the first time, the Loyalists knew for a fact he was alive.

  
  


*

  
  


Sneaking into Dunwall Tower was far easier than it should have been. And not just because Corvo had done it hundreds of times before, both for the practice and to keep the guards on their toes. Security had gone downhill without him to oversee it. But still, he took it slow. At this time of year, the sun wouldn’t rise for at least six hours. He had time.

And he had the element of surprise. Campbell had been branded, and no one was allowed to speak to him anymore, or suffer the wrath of the Overseers. The Pendletons had vanished. Sokolov was missing. For a man like Burrows, he would be suspicious, but not of someone coming to attack him personally. Corvo could hear it in the guards’ gossip.

Things had been strained between Burrows and Campbell for months, they whispered. Likely because the plague hadn’t been eradicated according to Burrows’ plan, or perhaps because Corvo hadn’t signed the confession no matter how much pressure they’d put on him. Or perhaps, Corvo mused as he crept through some bushes, running an empire took far more work than either of them had been expecting.

One of the guards wondered if Burrows had arranged for Campbell’s branding, and was quickly hushed. Another guard thought that maybe that was why the Pendletons had vanished. They didn’t want to be next. Cruel though the brothers were, they weren’t stupid. And either Sokolov had had the same train of thought, or he’d gone off on another one of his expeditions without telling anyone. It had happened before.

But nothing that Corvo had done said that Burrows himself was a target.

Even more reason not to have killed Lady Boyle.

When he reached the palace, entering through a vent over the entrance, Burrows was shouting at his guards. His words were muffled, bouncing around too many corners for Corvo to decipher them, but they sounded like the usual, “bumbling incompetent guards, do I have to do everything myself,” kind of speech he’d heard often before Jessamine had made him tone it down.

He blinked from vent to chandelier to the balcony just outside the Lord Regent’s room. Jessamine’s room. Luckily, the safe was exactly the same. Burrows hadn’t even changed the combination. Corvo liberated everything inside, as well as a few choice other objects around the room, then headed for the balcony to think.

He wanted to kill Burrows. He burned with it. The desire to jam a knife into his neck and twist. To take his voice, to rid the world forever of his nasally sneer. But…

An order, from many years ago stopped him. An expression of shock and horror, of lost innocence, of shattered images.

So, looking for another way to deal with Burrows, he headed the broadcasting tower.

  
  


*

  
  


Many years ago, when Jessamine was newly eighteen and her father had given her Corvo as a birthday gift, someone tried to take her life. It wasn’t the first attempt, simply the first Corvo had stopped himself. Euhorn Kaldwin was not a popular man, with his radical policies.

Before that, Corvo had been a simple guard, and an occasional playmate. When their duties allowed, they would prank the other nobles, or sneak around the guards, trying not to be seen.

But that night, when Jessamine had woken up to see Corvo standing above a corpse and covered in blood, she’d been horrified. The look on her face…

She summoned him the next day. He’d thought she would be sending him back to Karnaca, even though that would be a horrible insult to the duke. Perhaps he would be reassigned to the Watch. Neither option seemed appealing. Instead, she stared down at him with an expression he would come to recognize in later years, although this was his first time seeing it himself. She didn’t hold the title herself, but she was an empress, and she would be obeyed. “I know you were trained as an assassin. I know you were given to my father with the express purpose of being an assassin, for use by my family. From now on, you will kill _only_ when I tell you to. Is that understood?”

Corvo nodded. Then he spoke an affirmative, just so she would know he was serious.

It was understood.

  
  


*

  
  


And so, Corvo thought as he fed the card into the broadcaster, Burrows will face justice. Whatever kind of justice Emily sees fit to assign. And if she decrees that Corvo will take his life, he will without hesitation. The Loyalists saw him as a weapon, a knife they could point at their enemies. And he was. But he wasn’t _their_ weapon.

The palace was in an uproar after the broadcast went out. But none of the guards were doing any guarding. They were all clumped together in groups, talking amongst each other, then splitting off to form new groups.

Needless to say, it was even easier sneaking out than it was sneaking in. But Corvo didn’t relax until Samuel’s boat was slipping through the waters, away from the tower.

  
  


*

  
  


Many years ago, Corvo was given to the emperor of the islands by Duke Theodanis Abele, the leader of Serkanos under the emperor’s rule. A gift, the duke had said, who will devote his life to you and your family’s well being.

So of course, no one had trusted Corvo. He was an assassin, and more likely than not to kill the royal family when the duke ordered it. Which, to be fair, had most likely been the intention. Except no one had told Corvo. So he had given his complete fealty to the Kaldwins, which he _had_ been told to do. And so when some nobles in Serkanos had sent him a letter telling him it was time to fulfill his objective, he’d given it to the Spymaster.

  
  


*

  
  


Just as Samuel pulled the boat alongside the dock, Havelock and Martin came down the steps. They’d clearly been waiting. The admiral looked furious. “What did you _do_?”

Corvo patted his pockets, pulling out a sodden notebook. It must have gotten wet in the swim into the waterlock. He gave an apologetically pleading look at Samuel, who winced. He didn’t like having to play translator with the admiral. He didn’t much like talking to the admiral at all. But it had to be done. And so, as Corvo spoke, Samuel translated, “He says he took Burrows out of power. The throne is open for Emily to take in the morning.”

“We had a plan Corvo,” Martin said. He was quieter than Havelock, but that didn’t make him any less angry. “Kill Boyle, then take out Burrows.”

“She didn’t need to die,” Samuel said, watching Corvo’s hands. “Killing her would have made Burrows’ even more suspicious. He was vulnerable, so I, ah, Corvo took him out.”

Havelock turned this over. Then, faster than even Corvo could track, being as tired as he was, he pulled out his pistol and shot Corvo twice in the chest. Corvo fell backwards, landing in the boat. “We don’t need a knife that can think. Samuel, dispose of that.”

Samuel, being the wise man he was, started his boat and drove away from the man with the smoking pistol.

  
  


*

  
  


The jacket of the Lord Protector is a special one, one that Corvo has been thankful for many times in his life. Firstly, it was warm. Gristol was much colder than Serkanos, and Corvo felt the chill in his bones every winter. Even the summers were cooler than he’d like, and Jessamine had more than once commented that just looking at him was making her sweat.

Secondly, as a result of it being warm, it was bulky. Not enough to hinder his movements, but enough to hide his malnutrition from the Loyalists. They’d been his best chance of getting Emily back, which meant he _had_ to work with them, which meant he had to look like an asset and not a starving waif. And later, it had hidden his malnutrition from Emily, which was much more important.

Finally, it was armored in several places, so he could physically stand in between a bullet and his empress and still keep fighting. Of course, getting shot point blank in the chest still hurt a _lot_ , and there was a very good chance he would break a few ribs. But if he couldn’t keep fighting on a few broken ribs, he wasn’t much of a Lord Protector.

Of course, landing on his head would be enough to keep anyone down.

  
  


*

  
  


When Corvo awoke, he knew he had a concussion. It wasn’t his first, and probably wouldn’t be his last, but that didn’t make the symptoms any easier to bear. Between the nausea, headache and one, two, four broken ribs, he knew he wouldn’t be doing any roof climbing any time soon.

Letting out a pained breath, he cracked an eyelid. The light burned, his headache flared, and he rushed to get his head over the side of the boat before his meagre supper came back out.

A hand swept his hair out of his face, the other rubbing soothing circles into his back. “They told me you were alive Corvo.” Samuel. Corvo relaxed a bit at the sound of his voice, then tensed again when his words caught up. They who? “I didn’t believe them until just this second. I am glad of it though.”

When Corvo was done, Samuel hauled him upright, giving him a canteen of water to rinse his mouth. Corvo still had his eyes shut, but he could hear breathing, the whispering of cloth, and the constant splash of someone rowing a boat. Cautiously, he opened his eyes.

There were three men on Samuel’s boat. One was standing on the engine. One was pushing a long stick against the bottom of the river. And one was sitting where Samuel usually did, Corvo’s sword folded up and held lightly in one hand.

All three were wearing whaler masks.

Nauseous, in pain, and unable to see properly, Corvo lunged at the one closest. Surprise got him a few solid hits, enabling him to take his sword back before the one rowing smacked the stick across his shoulders. His forehead rebounded off the engine, dazing him further, and in between one slow blink and the next, his forearms were tied together behind his back and his sword was being carried by the one on the engine.

He couldn’t think. Couldn’t figure out a plan to get his sword back and get him and Samuel away from these monsters. They’d killed Jessamine. They’d… He tried, instead, to focus on what Samuel was saying.

“I took us to the edge of the Flooded District. I thought we’d be safe there, since none of the Loyalists would come within three blocks of the place and on the river the weepers couldn’t get at us. Well, I didn’t know you were alive then, but I was hoping to give you a kind burial at sea, once the sea calmed down a bit. Next thing I knew, these three appeared on my boat outta nowhere. One second nothing, then there they were. Like how you do sometimes, but at least you have the decency to appear a few feet away. The one you punched popped up two inches from my nose. Damn good punch, by the way.”

Corvo’s head was resting on Samuel’s shoulder. It helped to have something solid. So the boatman felt Corvo smile, and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

  
  


*

  
  


A year ago, the leader of the Whalers, the Knife of Dunwall, the assassin Daud, would have ordered the death of the old boatman that Thomas and the others had brought in. Unlike the Lord Protector, he didn’t have a bounty in the tens of thousands on him. And he had seen the Whalers’ base, and how to get there. Packing up and relocating on the chance that he would tell the Watch was far too much effort to justify keeping him alive.

A year ago, heck, six and a half months ago, Daud probably would have shot the man himself, and let his men dispose of the body.

Six and a half months ago, Daud hadn’t taken a contract for the biggest regret of his life.

And so the cell beside the one they put Attano in was cleaned out and the Overseer body was tossed to the rats.

Later, when he demanded to know where his prisoners had gone, quiet with rage, his Whalers told him that no one had seen them leave. Just that the boat and the box of weapons were gone. That the Lord Protector had been concussed, malnourished and bound hand and foot, and he’d still gotten out. Daud sighed and flopped down into his chair and something poked him in the back.

It was a knife, of a different make than the ones the Whalers used, tucked into his belt, the tip pointing up towards his heart. And Daud took it for the message that it was.

  
  


*

  
  


Corvo was still feeling sick. Even the pain killing properties of both the remedy and the elixir weren’t enough to hold back his headache, and any light brighter than a candle flame only made it throb worse. At least the nausea was mostly faded.

He was sprawled out in the back of Samuel's boat, head propped on the gunwale and his legs dangling over the side. With his stomach settled, the rocking of the boat was almost soothing. He drifted, not really asleep, but not truly awake, until the bottom of the boat scraped against the shore.

Samuel gazed up at the Hound Pits, uneasy. “You sure about this? There’s more’n a few guards here. And tallboys.”

Corvo ran his own eye over the place. In general, the best guards were always stationed at the palace, for obvious reasons. Which meant that the Watch was… lacking in personnel who were skilled in security. That combined with the fact that they were guarding an unfamiliar location, well. It would be easy enough for Corvo to sneak in and out. He nodded. ‘ _I have this. You should get somewhere safe._ ’

Samuel nodded in reply, then pulled out something large and metal from the hold. “Here. It’s a flare gun. Set it up somewhere in the tower, then set it off when you want me to pick you up.”

It was a little bulky, even strapped to his back, so Corvo climbed up the tower first, intending on putting it into Emily’s room. With the added benefit of seeing if Emily was still there.

Emily wasn’t, but Callista was. She filled him in. After they’d heard the shots, they’d gone to see what had happened. Havelock had said he’d been doing some shooting practice, but the servants had been suspicious, and Emily edgy. Especially once Martin mentioned off-handedly to Lydia that Corvo and Samuel had betrayed them. They’d planned to meet in the building across the street to make their own plans, but Callista and Emily had been seen sneaking off. Callista didn’t know where Lydia, Wallace and Cecelia were or if they were alive, but the guards had been shouting about getting the two natural philosophers out of the workshop, so they were probably alive.

It was easy to sneak down. Corvo had climbed down the vents to the second floor window more than once as a shortcut. Usually when he didn’t feel like getting talked at by Havelock, Martin and Pendleton. Which was always. Piero talked at him too, but it was different; it felt like he was part of the conversation, even if he wasn’t saying much.

The new arc pylon takes care of the guards, leaving Corvo free to search Havelock’s room for clues.

Then he sets off the flare.

  
  


*

  
  


A popular topic of gossip amongst the nobles was whether Emily was the bastard daughter of the Empress and her Lord Protector. Many claimed that it wasn’t possible to show level of devotion and care to people who weren’t related to you. As if they gave even half the regard for their own spouses and children that the Lord Protector did to the Empress and Princess.

Others brought up the Empress’s brief marriage to a minor lord before he’d died in a fever. They claimed that the Lord Protector and the Princess looked nothing alike, besides hair colour. And most of the empire had dark hair.

None of them thought to ask Corvo. Why would they? He was a silent man, and wouldn’t give them an answer anyways. But for this question, he would have. Because both were wrong.

Corvo had loved Jessamine with all his being, but he had never been with her in a physical sense.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t Emily’s father in every way that counted.

  
  


*

  
  


Pendleton, having been absent when Havelock had shot Corvo, had decided against joining the other two in the lighthouse. Corvo had found him pacing and talking to himself in one of the gardens. Corvo had knocked him unconscious and left him on a high ledge, with just enough of a lip to prevent him from falling off. Later, when he woke up, he would need assistance getting down.

Martin was dead. Poisoned by Havelock. The admiral himself was unconscious on the floor, a sleep dart sticking out of his chest.

It was the work of seconds to unlock the door. Corvo opened it, pulling off his mask in the same motion, just as he’d done days ago when he’d taken her from the Golden Cat. He kneeled down just in time to intercept her hug, burying his face in her shoulder just as she was in his. They sat there, crying silent tears of relief for a long time. When they finally pulled apart so they could get a good look at each other, they kept their hands on each others arms.

Finally it was time to leave. Corvo shifted Emily to his back so he could use his arms, then pulled a blanket off of the bed in the room Havelock had shoved her into, wrapping it around her.

When they got back to the dock, Samuel was waiting with the good news that the servants were alive and well, and that he’d dropped Callista and Sokolov off near Dunwall Tower, to meet them. When they arrived, and Emily heard that Corvo couldn’t go with her, she started crying. Her tears now were silent where they use to be loud and attention getting. Corvo wondered again if he shouldn’t have killed the twins for what they’d done to her.

“I’m sorry Emily. But we haven’t cleared Corvo’s name yet.” Callista crouched down beside Emily, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbing at her eyes. “If he went with you, he’d be arrested for treason.”

The thought of going back to Coldridge, even for the small amount of time required to exonerate him, caused shivers to run up Corvo’s spine. He kept the feeling off of his face as best he could. Instead, he smiled and raised his hands. ‘ _I can’t walk beside you. But I will be watching. I’ll keep you safe._ ”

And he did. As Emily held Callista’s hand, walking behind Sokolov, Corvo followed on a higher level. Blinking from the ventilation shafts to chandeliers, he watched as Emily was recognized, as Sokolov talked his way around actually answering any questions as to where he’d found her. Watched as the maids fussed over her, waited while she took a bath and dressed in clean clothes. Clothes that, Corvo noticed as she walked down the hallway again, were growing too small for her. Smiled when Callista snapped, demanded that all questions be left for tomorrow. Emily had been through too much to be denied a proper rest any longer, couldn’t they see that?

And when Emily was back in her old room, Corvo climbed in through the window, sat on the floor against her bedside table, and held her hand. He wasn’t surprised when Emily said, “Corvo? Can you read me a story?”

His heart tightened in his chest. He shook his head. There was just enough light coming from the window for her to see it.

“Oh. Why?”

Corvo ran a thumb over the back of her hand. Then, gently, he pulled until her fingers were resting over the scar on his throat. It hadn’t healed well, and was raised enough to make it easy to feel. Emily traced it. Corvo heard her breath catch when she understood what it meant.

“Oh.” She pulled her hand away, using it to turn up the whale oil lamp on her table and grabbing the book there. It was one they’d been going through one chapter at a time, before he’d left for the islands. He smiled when he saw the bookmark, in the same place that he remembered it. “Then I’ll read to you.”

Corvo held the book and she flipped the pages. They were holding hands. Eventually, the sentences started coming out slower, punctuated by yawns. Emily fell asleep just after the pirate princess leapt onto the enemy ship. With another smile, he put the bookmark in place and turned down the light.

Eventually, he slept too.

  
  


*

  
  


A month into the reign of Empress Emily Kaldwin, she ordered her reinstated Lord Protector to remove his jacket and shirt. He protested. It wasn’t something he wanted her to see. It wasn’t something he liked to look at. But it was an order. And so, in the privacy of his small office, Corvo sat on the floor while someone touched his scars for the first time.

There were a lot. Some zigzagged up his arms and across his torso, brown burns that followed the path the arc energy had taken through him. Some dripped, making it look like his skin had melted, which it had when the acid had touched him. Cuts and slashes, many, many more than he’d had last time she’d demanded to see his scars, back when each had been accompanied by a riveting tale of bravery against those who had meant Jessamine harm. A few new bullet holes. A few of his fingers had healed crooked, although she had to be at the right angle to see them. A few toes too. A month of good eating hadn’t been enough to restore his previous health, and his ribs still jutted out alarmingly. And those were just visible things.

When she was done running gentle fingers over all of them, she gave him a hug.

The next day, she proposed a bill to the council that torture be outlawed as a form of getting information, due largely to its unreliability.

Corvo, standing behind and to the right of her chair, had to fight to keep his face still.

  
  


*

  
  


A few weeks later, a package arrived for Corvo, with a letter from Waverly Boyle.

_Dear Lord Attano,_

_I hope my letter finds you in good health. I am writing to thank you._

_Two months ago, my sister Esma was rendered unconscious by a guest at our last party. It scared her terribly, and we haven’t opened our house to guests since. However, I was invited to tea at Amelia Corio’s estate, and she told me about an exchange she overheard between a man in a skull mask and Lord Brisby. Brisby said he was aware that the man in the skull mask was here to kill Esma and requested that instead she be taken to his boat, to spare her life. Amelia is a terribly nosy person, but she is not a liar._

_Esma has since told me that she was funding Hiram Burrows in exchange for favour at court. She, of course, had no idea of his crimes at the time._

_The only name in our guestbook that wasn’t on the invite list was yours. As such, I want to thank you both for sparing my sister’s life, and for sparing her from a fate far worse. I have enclosed a gift. A family heirloom, if you will. No item is worth the life of my sister, but this is as close as I am able to get._

_I have not told my sisters of this matter yet. I do not think I shall. Hearing that the man who knocked her unconscious had done so with the intention to kill will not help. As such, it will be quite a while before either of them feel safe enough to open our home again. I doubt we ever will. Of course, the Empress is always welcome here. And as her constant companion, you are as well._

_Your secret is safe with me, Lord Protector._

_Yours,_

_Waverly Boyle_

Corvo smiled at the letter, then set it into the fireplace. The package was an Outsider’s rune and a small photograph of himself, Jessamine and Emily from several years ago, at a very different Boyle party.

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, this game takes place over the course of about a week. Killing Lady Boyle won't have an immediate effect on Burrows' finances, and the mission to eliminate him is literally the next day. So no, she didn't need to die.
> 
> Weird how after a year of radio silence from my creativity, it comes back to a completely different fandom than my usual ones. 
> 
> This wasn't _really_ mentioned in the fic, but I headcanon Corvo as ace because I headcanon all my characters as ace because I'm the author and I get to do that.
> 
> Also, if this isn't canon compliant with Dishonored 2, a) I haven't played that yet and b) is ma fic. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading!!


End file.
